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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813756">Listen, chile, I'm doing the best I can</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil'>Lasgalendil</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Food, Gina Prince-Bythewood gave the gays everything they wanted, Humor, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Interfaith Relationship, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, M/M, Meet the Family, Nile Freeman is So Done, Sass, Sexual Humor, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Old Guard (Movie) Compliant, The Old Guard as found family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:02:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813756</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nile's already died twice today, been abducted by an Amazon, labelled AWOL, is apparently immortal(!?), and now the worst bit of all is she has to put up with these two little shits.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache &amp; Booker | Sebastien le Livre &amp; Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani &amp; Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Andy | Andromache of Scythia &amp; Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre &amp; Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/football, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman &amp; Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nile Freeman &amp; Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani &amp; Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman &amp; Nicky | Nicolo di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>485</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I don't want to be afraid, I just don't want to be here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.<br/>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.<br/>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.<br/>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.<br/>Nicky and Joe are in love.<br/>Oh, Nile thinks, ya’ll in<em> love</em> love.</p><hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p><hr/><p>She didn’t trust Andy.</p><p>Nile Freeman was a twenty-six year-old black Marine from the South Side of Chicago. Of <em>course</em> she didn’t trust Andy. She’d be a damned fool to trust her. Andy had taken her down with ease. First with a blow to the base of the skull at Camp fucking Dwyer, the second time with a shot to the head. Goddamn. She’d managed to infiltrate a US military base and bypass security, not to mention navigate one the most unforgiving and hostile terrains on earth. Garmsir district was desolate, tribal, held by a fiercely independent people who distrusted the central Afghani government set up by ISAF almost as much as direct foreign interference. That Andy had serious underworld connections that could get her a transcontinental flight through the drug trade, well. It just made her that much more dangerous.</p><p> Nile thought she’d held her own in the cargo hold, but it’d become clear the moment Andy had broken her right arm and leg with such deliberate precision she’d only ever been testing her. Andy was a proficient hand to hand fighter, clever as all hell, knew how to handle a weapon and had proved she wasn’t above using one. And now they were meeting with three other immortals? If this was some sort of <em>Get Out</em> shit she was so, <em>so</em> fucked.</p><p>She might have only made her first kill—as if it were something to be <em>proud</em> of, to brag about, to add to—God, she hated herself for that, but Nile Freeman wasn’t naïve. She was a Marine. A Survivor. A stubborn optimist despite all odds, like her mother and grandmother before her. She was a soldier, not a spy, but she’d spent some of her leave in the EU, sleeping in hostels, reading at local cafes, and drinking in museums. This wasn’t Paris.</p><p>She kept her guard up. Eyes roving. “I thought you said we were going to Paris.”</p><p>"We're just outside of Paris.” Andy countered. “This is Gussainville. This place has been abandoned for 50 years.”</p><p>“Why?” Nile pressed, just as an Airbus A380 flew overhead. The sound made her bones rumble.</p><p>Andy only grinned. Right. Made sense. This level of noise, no way a little village like this stayed populated. There was just—just something off about it. Not taking refuge in a church. She’d known plenty of folks who’d waited out ICE in church services, synagogues, and mosques. It was the proximity to the <em>dead</em> she didn’t understand. Nile Freeman didn’t believe in ghosts, but it felt disrespectful, all the same.</p><p>Nile couldn’t say what she’d been expecting. Excalibur. Knights of the Round Table. Some sort of weird cult shit. What she <em>didn’t</em> expect was just three dudes chilling, watching soccer. Okay, so two dudes chilling watching soccer, another sprawled against the base of the chair, reading. Their heads turned as one. Not gonna lie, a little bit creepy. Put her on edge.</p><p>The one on the floor closed his book, and the spell was broken. “This is her.” Andy said without introduction.</p><p>This was them. She knew their faces. Had seen them in her dreams.</p><p>“Corporal Freeman. US Marine Corp.” Nile began, at parade rest. <em>Not any more,</em> she remembered Andy’s warning. <em>They’ll lock you up</em>. She tried to relax. To seem casual. Calm. She hated that her voice broke. “Nile.”</p><p>“Nicolò di Genova.” The one with the book nodded to her, switching it to his left hand to offer her his right. “Call me Nicky.” Pale skin. Green eyes. A soft face with a striking aquiline nose. He seemed tired, timeless, and yet oh so familiar—as they shook hands Nile would swear she’d seen him before in the work of every Renaissance painter.</p><p>“You’re Christian.” Another speaker. Bearded. Brown skin. Coily hair. Soulful, deep black eyes.  Some <em>serious</em> otter vibes from this boy.</p><p> “Uh, yeah,” Nile said, hand going to her necklace on instinct. It’d been her father’s. She didn’t believe in magic, in talismans, in amulets, but there was something comforting in carrying a little piece of home. Of him.</p><p>“Was it too much to ask she be Muslim?” He supplicated the ceiling.  “Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib.” A brief pause. “Joe.” Then he winked at her. Not in a creepy, sexualized way. No, dude was <em>hazing</em> her, the fucker. He grinned. “Catholic or Protestant?”</p><p>“Just sort of Baptist.” Nile responded on reflex. “Why?”</p><p>“How is the saying? For a country that claims to be Protestant your government certainly disapproves of protest.”</p><p>Nile stared. Did he…did he just make joke about <em>police brutality and</em> <em>structural racism</em>—?</p><p>The guy cracked up.</p><p>What the shit, Nile wondered faintly.</p><p>“You keep stealing all my best jokes.” Nicky reproached him, suffering from a severe case of pre-Raphaelite lips.</p><p>“You have <em>one</em> joke,” Joe insisted through his hiccoughing. “And half of what’s yours is mine.”</p><p>Nicky turned to them solemnly. “Andy, I am filing for divorce.”</p><p>“Again?” Andy asked, and that’s the moment Nile knew she was so, <em>so</em> fucked. This was going to be a whole ordeal: she’d walked into Avengers tower circa 2012. The Found Family trope was just <em>everywhere.</em> Shit, she was standing in it right now.</p><p>“You look famished.” Nicky turned to her, frowning. “Have you eaten?”</p><p>“MREs.” Nile told him. “On the plane.”</p><p>“So, no.” Nicky clucked at her like her actual auntie. “You need food. Real food. Come in, sit, rest.  I will make you something to eat.”</p><p>“Oh, no, habibi,” Joe begged. “Please do not cook for us.”</p><p>“I’m cooking for Andy and Nile,” Nicky said. “<em>You</em> can make your own supper.”</p><p>Joe pouted. “In that case I’ll just stay here and watch football and drink beer with Booker.”</p><p>“You are a terrible husband and an even worse Muslim.” Nicky sighed, and kissed the top of his head.</p><p>“I must be,” Joe said. “I married a Catholic.”</p><p> “Is it always like this?” Nile asked the long-suffering white guy who could only be Booker.</p><p>“This? No. Sometimes it’s worse.” He informed her gravely. “If you see a sketchbook, don’t pick it up. Joe does portraiture.”</p><p>“Artistic nudes.” Nicky called from the kitchen. Joe winked at her again.</p><p>After the day she’d been having? She could use the pick-me-up. “Got any that aren’t skinny white boys?”</p><p>“Skinny white boys,” Joe huffed, standing and stretching. “You are tired, clearly not seeing well. I will make you coffee. Real coffee. Not that Starbucks stuff. Put some hair on your chest.”</p><p>Yeah, no thanks. She had to wax enough as it was. She shrugged. “Wouldn’t say no to a cup.”</p><p>“Don’t go in the kitchen for a while,” Booker warned, patting the now empty chair next to him. “Unless you want, you know, ‘right in front of your salad’. You like football?”</p><p>If it weren’t all so surreal, she’d laugh until she cried. As it was, she just sat awkwardly. “Yeah, I got that. Thanks. And I do. Like football.” She added. “American football. Not, you know, soccer.” Unless it was USWNT. Megan Rapinoe could get it any day.</p><p>“<em>Soccer</em>,” Booker lamented. “Five hundred euros we will convert you before the evening is over.”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry, man.” Nile shrugged. “Sort of left my wallet at Camp Dwyer.” Wonder whose fault that was.</p><p>He dug for his own, and handed her five crumpled notes. “I bet you <em>Nicky</em>’s five hundred euros we will convert you before the evening is over.”</p><p>“Wha—why do you have Nicky’s money.” Nile blinked.</p><p>“He lost a bet.” Booker shrugged. She turned to Andy.</p><p>“Baklava.”</p><p>Forthcoming as ever, Nile sighed. She turned back to the tv. “So we the red guys or the blue guys.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>    Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. How come you joined the circus, chile?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.</p><p>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.</p><p>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.</p><p>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are in love.</p><p>...Joe and Nicky are the worst.</p>
<hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p>
<hr/><p>For all he looked like a middle-school English teacher straight out of central casting, Nicky did <em>not</em> cook like a skinny white boy. The chapel filled up with the scent of cumin, garlic, spicy peppers, and olive oil. Her stomach rumbled. Nile heard the clink and scraping of cookware and her hunger (and curiosity) got the best of her. She braved the kitchen. No dicks, so thank Jesus for that; just two dudes standing less than five feet apart, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes and spoon feeding each other because they were very, <em>very</em> Gay. “You making pasta?”</p><p>“No,” Nicky said, turning back to Joe with an endearingly small smile that kind of made her want to hurl, delicious food smells be damned. “It’s safe house special: lablabi. Joe’s favorite.”</p><p>“With canned chickpeas and decades-old harissa,” Joe grumbled around his steaming mouthful of stew. “It’s <em>tolerable.</em>”</p><p>“You’re tolerable.”</p><p> “That’s not what you said last night.”</p><p>...Yeah. Nile was beginning to have second thoughts about the kitchen.</p><p>“I said it right now.” Nicky argued, in less of a friendly marital bickering and more of an English-is-neither-of-ours-first-language-and-idioms-are-hard” sort of way. “I didn’t say it last night.”</p><p>“No, no,” Joe insisted. “it’s a joke—“</p><p>“Last night we were on a train?” Nicky continued, keeping an eye on the simmering pan. “We were running from Copley. Andy left to find Nile. It was a terrifying time. It was not a joke.”</p><p>Joe sighed. Crossed his arms fondly. “Habibi…”</p><p>“Uh,” Nile said, casting desperately to change the subject. “That enough garlic?”</p><p>Nicky turned, and served her with her A Look™ so disdainful she’d swear she’d been slapped. “No.”</p><p>“Not if you want to avoid the vampires.” Joe told her sagely.</p><p>“The fucking what now,” Nile crossed her arms.</p><p>“Andy didn’t tell you about the vampires? Nicky, she doesn’t know about the vampires.” Joe shook his head. “Typical.”</p><p>Nile knew better. She fucking knew better. She turned to Nicky. “Tell me he’s lying.”</p><p> “Andy never talks about the vampires.” Nicky confirmed solemnly.</p><p> “What the shit!” she exclaimed.</p><p>Joe looked at Nicky. Nicky looked at Joe. A beat of silence. Two beats. Then Joe began to smile. Nicky burst into giggles. Like, <em>helpless</em> giggles. Like Joe had to lead him away from the stove top because he’d burned his hand sort of helpless giggles, and all he could do was collapse against him and gasp, “because they’re not real!”</p><p>“Did you think this was Highlander?” Joe tutted. “There is more than one.”</p><p>“You must forgive us,” Nicky apologized, wiping away tears of mirth. “We rarely talk to new people. He was saving this joke for thirty years.”</p><p>“Only thirty? He’s been planning it since 1897,” Booker called from his post in front of the tv.</p><p>Well <em>shit</em>. How old were these folks, anyway? “What happened in 1897?” Nile couldn’t help herself.</p><p>And Booker turned his tired, hangdog face to her and stated, dead serious, “Bram Stoker published Dracula.”</p><p>Nicky resumed his soft hysterics. Joe just grinned at her like a lunatic. “Get me out of this room before I kill someone.” Nile seethed.</p><p>“It won’t take,” Booker sighed, turning back to his game. “Believe me, I tried.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>    Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. You can’t get outta the game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.</p><p>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.</p><p>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.</p><p>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are in love.</p><p>Joe and Nicky need to <em>get a room</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p>
<hr/><p> “Yes,” Nile hissed and pumped her first as their team sank the first goal.</p><p>“No,” Booker explained. “The right forward was off-sides.”</p><p> “But there’s no lines!” Nile complained. The NFL was problematic as all hell but at least they had <em>digitally added field markers</em> for their audience. “How the hell are you supposed to know who’s where?”</p><p>“That’s what your eyes are for.” He said with the tiniest trace of a smile. “And the referee.”</p><p>“Ugh. This game is bullshit,” Nile decided, and sank lower in her chair.</p><p>Booker raised his beer. “At least there’s no ad breaks.” Which, okay. Fair enough.</p><p>From the kitchen, a timer went off. Nile turned, peeking up over the back of the chair. “Dinner done?”</p><p>“Ah, no.” Joe apologized. “That’s mine.”</p><p>“Damn.” Nile slumped over in the chair, stomach rumbling. “What’s taking so long.”</p><p>“Mint tea,” he told her. “It has to <em>steep</em>. And you had coffee not ten minutes ago.”</p><p>“Yeah, that coffee had like, zero calories,” Nile grumbled. It’d been dark, and dense, and oddly spiced, but here hadn’t been pinch of sugar or a drop of milk. She wasn’t diabetic, so it wasn’t actually low blood sugar or anything, but honestly? She felt like she was back in basic, like she’d just finished the Crucible. She wasn’t just hangry, she was <em>starving.</em></p><p>“The healing takes it out of you.” Booker offered in sympathy.</p><p>“Yeah.” Nile said. “Feel like I could eat three thanksgiving dinners then sleep for a week.” What she wouldn’t for some of her mama’s mac and cheese right now…</p><p>“You’ll get used to it.” He grunted. “You’ll eat, sleep a lot more.”</p><p>“So.” Nile said after a moment of silence, the tv flickering forgotten in the background. “You’re like cats.”</p><p>“Grumpycats.” Booker agreed.</p><p>Nile closed her eyes with a groan. “I can’t even with the memes right now, man.”</p><p>“My apologies.”</p><p>“Booker thinks he’s cool because he can use a computer,” Andy heckled from the shadows.</p><p>“I can use a telephone, too.”</p><p>“In my defense, there used to be an operator.”</p><p>“I know, I remember. I was alive then, too,” Booker reminded her. “So you’ve no excuse.”</p><p>“We shouldn’t fight in front of the kid.”</p><p>“I’m twenty-six.” Nile insisted.</p><p>“Yeah.” Andy sighed. “You’re a fucking baby.” They lapsed into an agreeable, if not entirely comfortable, silence.</p><p>“I see how this is,” she heard Nicky hassling Joe from the kitchen. “I use canned chickpeas and my cooking is <em>tolerable.</em> But this tea is fine?”</p><p>“We make do with what we have, Habibi.” Joe answered him wisely. “For instance, I married you.”</p><p>Nile turned to Booker. “Do those two ever stop?”</p><p>“No.” He raised his beer again in a commiserating toast. “But fighting is better than the other thing.”</p><p>“Those leaves are ancient.”</p><p>“So are we.” This was accompanied by the kind of fabric rustle that made Nile stare <em>decidedly</em> at the screen.  She did not need to see her what?—immortal brothers? cousins? weird uncles? gay grandpas?—kissing. Gentle peck or full on make-out sesh, it made no difference. There was not enough brain bleach <em>in the entire world.</em></p><p>“You two better being wearing clothes back there,” Booker called.</p><p>“We have socks on!” Joe protested.</p><p>Nicky let out a startled laugh. “You need to go pray?” he asked softly.</p><p>“Family stuff,” Joe replied, and she heard the sound of water pouring. “Nile is new. This is more important. How is the tea?”</p><p>“Tolerable.”</p><p>Nile nearly spat out her beer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>    Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I brought you some tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.</p><p>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.</p><p>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.</p><p>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are in love.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are an acquired taste.</p>
<hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p>
<hr/><p>The tea was not, in fact, tolerable.</p><p>…it was so sticky sweet she’d swear it cemented her jaw shut.</p><p>“Goddamn,” Nile choked. “First black coffee and now this? What is wrong with you people.”</p><p>“It's traditional,” Joe insisted with a twinkle in his eye that meant he knew that she knew that he knew he was hazing her, and had no intentions of stopping. “That’s how it is <em>supposed</em> to be served.”</p><p>“Is there any <em>tea</em> in this or is it just syrup?” Nile blanched.</p><p>“I thought Americans liked sweet things,” Nicky said.</p><p>“My Me-maw’s from Georgia and even <em>she</em> doesn’t make tea this sweet.” Nile shuddered. “Ugh. I can <em>feel </em>the cavities growing.”</p><p>“It’s Amazigh,” Nicky offered in apology. “An acquired taste.”</p><p>Joe winked at him from across the table. Nile groaned.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Nile. The food is better than the coffee and tea,” Booker assured her.</p><p>“You’re French,” Joe protested. “What would you know about good food?” Andy rolled her eyes. Nicky just looked on in contented amusement. It was, it seemed, an old argument between the two of them.</p><p>“Just serve the food,”  Booker insisted. “You’ve tortured the poor girl enough already.”</p><p>Nile gritted her teeth. I’m a <em>soldier</em>, she wanted to remind them. A <em>Marine</em>.  Being called a child by two white people was not the sort of thing she usually took laying down, but it didn’t seem especially malicious (that, and Andy could hand her her ass). There was a time and a place, and it wasn’t in a safe house next to an airport in a French village abandoned since the second World War while on the run from the US government.</p><p> …besides, she’d go to Joe. Not Booker or Andy directly.</p><p>“Alright, alright.” Joe sighed in mock disapproval, heaping piping hot stew into all their bowls. “You’ve had delicious coffee, infidel beer, and insulted my tea as well as all of my people. Time for the main course.”</p><p>“Joe—” Nicky remonstrated.</p><p>“Thank fucking <em>God</em>.” Nile said, even if her pastor disapproved and her mama would wash her mouth out with soap.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>    Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. delicious and nutritious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.</p><p>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.</p><p>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.</p><p>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are in love.</p><p>Joe and Nicky are insufferable.</p>
<hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p>
<hr/><p>"Oh my fucking <em>God</em>,” Nile couldn’t stop the orgasmic sound from escaping her lips around her first bite, and she was far too hungry to give a shit about her dignity. Then she shoveled another spoonful into her mouth without even bothering to chew or breathe. Joe, Nicky, and Booker looked on, bemused. “’S like a real weird chili? Wait, is that <em>tuna</em>—?”</p><p>"Canned tuna," Joe lamented.</p><p>“Garlic, cumin, hot peppers, tomato?”  Nicky considered aloud. “Similar.”</p><p>“It’s <em>okay</em>,” Joe allowed. “Better with dried chickpeas, <em>fresh</em> tuna, and herbs. And poached eggs.”</p><p>“Yeah. Don’t think those would’ve kept.” Andy snorted.</p><p>“We have the internet, electricity, and a flat screen tv,” Joe shook his head at her, “but we don’t have eggs? Booker can watch FIFA on every channel but I can’t get a decent breakfast.”</p><p>“Wait, this is<em> breakfast</em> food?” Nile asked through a mouthful of food.</p><p>“Joe is passionate about this.” Nicky told her with his slow, patient smile. “If you let him get started, he will never stop.”</p><p>“Of all the things this modern world has invented, you can’t make eggs?”</p><p>“There’s—there’s shelf-stable eggs.” Nile said, swallowing. She’d know. She’d grown up on school breakfasts and lunches.</p><p>“Powdered eggs, <em>frozen</em> eggs…” Joe listed with disdain. “Vegan egg <em>substitute</em>—“</p><p>“Did you eat enough?” Nicky ignored him, and tsked at her empty bowl. He topped it off again with another heaping ladleful before she could so much as form an answer.</p><p>Booker caught her eye over the next bite. "Nicky sees a hungry person and asks is someone going to feed that and doesn’t even wait for an answer.”</p><p>“Stop.” Nile begged. “Please. Just <em>stop</em> with the memes.”</p><p>Booker shrugged. “I’m trying to be hip.”</p><p>Nile groaned. “No one even says that anymore.”</p><p>“Booker is trying to make you feel welcome.” Nicky told her. “I fear he is making it worse.”</p><p>“All these centuries and you still must keep chickens if you want decent eggs.” Joe continued.</p><p>“You can literally just buy them," Nile pointed out.</p><p>Joe snorted. “Factory farmed eggs: thin shells, break easily, tasteless." He pontificated with his fork. "What use is the internet, <em>ya euywny</em>, if it can’t give me fresh herbs and eggs?” </p><p>“Information?” Nile tried.</p><p>“Porn.” Andy put down her spoon. Crossed her arms in triumph. Nile choked on a mouthful of steaming chickpeas and tuna.</p><p>Booker pounded her back. “You don’t want to choke to death,” he said, unsmiling. “Very unpleasant.”</p><p>Joe sniffed. “I’m happily married.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Andy retorted. “To the <em>laptop</em>.”</p><p>“We should go back to Biya,” Nicky looked longingly across the table to Joe in the picture of oblivious domestic bliss. “Check on the garden.”</p><p>“Could you two not?” Nile coughed. Read the room, honestly.</p><p>”Al Hoceima’s not a good idea.” Andy warned.</p><p>Booker leaned forward, attentive. “You think it’s been compromised?”</p><p>She snorted. “Let’s just say there’s a reason we’re here instead of Quemado beach.”</p><p>Compromised? That wasn’t a term to be used or taken lightly. And why the hell <em>were</em> they meeting here in an abandoned church?  Nile looked down at her stew. Safe house special, Nicky had called it. She was on the run from the US military, Andy’s reasoning there had been clear enough. But this felt like something different. Something <em>more</em>.</p><p>She needed to ask questions. Demand answers. Get intelligence. But the scent of hot food was in front of her, and she felt helpless to do anything other than eat.</p><p>“We’ll miss the migration.” Nicky said.</p><p> “There’s always next year.” Joe consoled. “We’ll go to Tangiers. And Merja Zerga, Inshallah."</p><p>“The tomatoes and roses will die,” Nicky reminded him. “And the mint will be <em>everywhere</em>.”  </p><p>“Silya will water them.” Joe insisted. “Just like the off season.”</p><p>Nicky shook his head. Made a little noise of disapproval. “She waters from too high. The leaves will be yellow.”</p><p>“Habibi, she’s <em>nine</em>.”</p><p>Booker snorted.</p><p>“I leave for a year and you two take up bird watching and start a garden,” Andy dropped down from the counter to resume her pacing. “Typical.”</p><p>“What can we say, boss,” Joe said. “It’s cheaper than buying this one flowers.” Nicky kicked his leg gently under the table. Bedroom eyes Nile could deal with. Everyone’d been stuck with that annoying couple with their excessive PDA. This was different: the sort of tender, soft romantic shit of two people so deeply in love it made you uncomfortable for entirely nonsexual reasons.  Fuck, she hadn’t seen a look like that since Pop-pop passed away. Her Gran had gone just a few days later.</p><p>Nicky assumed her silent reminiscing to be confusion, and took pity on her. “We’ve had the garden for almost five years now,” he explained.</p><p>“It was probably time to move on, anyways.” Booker warned. Nile was a Marine, not a Green Beret or Navy Seal. Covert Ops and spy craft weren’t her skill set, but she’d still been trained in counterinsurgency. Traveling in the open was dangerous, sure, but staying put was suicide. Just ask bin Laden.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Now, let's get down to business, honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets.<br/>It is the story of two women and three men who cannot die. Mostly.<br/>Their names are Andy, Nicky, Joe, Booker and Nile.<br/>Andy is the eldest. Nile is the youngest.<br/>Joe and Nicky are in love.</p><p>...Joe and Nicky are some fanfiction bullshit.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>THE OLD GUARD</p><hr/><p>When Andy said she led a group of immortals, Nile thought she’d been drafted into some sort of immortal warrior cult. When she’d said, “Four,” Nile thought <em>well, shit, let’s start a band</em>. And now that she’d met the immortals in question? Well. Let’s just say it felt less like an army and more like a slice of life sit com: the silent and cynical vodka aunt, the Depressed™ Dad Friend, the humorous jock with surprising intelligence and a heart of gold, and the soft spoken cinnamon roll.</p><p>But Nile Freeman was a soldier. A Marine. She’d seen Andy’s skills in action first hand. Watched her dispatch two Marines in as few seconds. Remembered the cold dread and thrill of her strong grip wresting away her pistol. The ease with which she’d incapacitated her on the plane—shit, she’d been <em>toying</em> with her, testing her the entire time. If Booker, Nicky, and Joe had even a fraction of the skill Andy had…</p><p>She was in a room full of deadly warriors. Not like she wasn’t used to being in a room full of deadly warriors—it’s just usually they were a lot more jacked and organized with a matching uniforms and an ounce of decorum. They were just so <em>normal-looking:</em> Andy dressed like a leather-loving lesbian with a midlife crisis. Booker oozed depressed divorcee English lit prof at a community college vibes, complete with a seemingly endless supply of flasks. Joe was a woke jock—like, the Brown Chris Evans or something, down to the smedium compression shirt.  And Nicky? Nicky was the average height, average build, generic white guy straight from central casting complete with a bland, bad haircut. He dressed the definition of drab casual Mark Zuckerberg could only dream of. Guy couldn’t be any more nondescript if he tried (Which, Nile thought, was probably the point.).</p><p>It felt like they were waiting, building up to something. Then, when she finally felt full (and Andy had taken the last of the food so Nicky had finally ran out of lablabi to force feed her) and could stand the suspense no more, she set down her spoon. The weight of their collective attention fell on her immediately.</p><p><em>Here goes nothing. </em>She’d been kidnapped (had she been kidnapped?) by these people. Might as well find out where they stood. “So.” Nile asked. “You good guys or bad guys?”</p><p>Booker was silent. Andy resumed her pacing. They looked at one another, passing the question between themselves.</p><p>“Depends on the century.” Joe said.</p><p>“We fight for what we think is right.” Nicky answered earnestly, leaning back in his chair and nodding to Joe. “Sometimes we are mistaken.”</p><p>Okay. So chalk that down to…neutral guys, then. At least they weren’t some sort of extremists, convinced they were right. A more pressing question: “How come I can see you all in my dreams?”</p><p>“We dream of each other.” Joe told her. “It stops when we meet.”</p><p>“Why.”</p><p>Joe opened  his mouth again to say something, but Nicky answered first. “I believe it is because we are meant to find each other.”</p><p>Joe met his eyes from across the table, and winked.</p><p>“It’s like destiny.” Nicky addressed Joe softly, forgetting her.</p><p>She turned to Booker, pleading for assistance. “No,” he sighed, "it’s more like misery loves company.”</p><p>Joe snorted.</p><p>She looked at Andy, who just shoveled another forkful of food into her face. Let out a garbled, “What he said.”</p><p>“The dreams do not give us many details. Before computers, it used to take many years to track a new one,” Nicky continued. “Booker was the last. 1812.”</p><p>“No way.” Nile argued. “You’re shitting me.”</p><p>“Yeah," he shrugged, and took a long drink. "I died fighting with Napoleon.”</p><p>“Fuck.” Nile breathed, turning to Joe and Nicky again. “So you’re even older.”</p><p>“Nicky and I met during what you call the Crusades,” Joe offered.</p><p>“The Crusades?” she repeated.</p><p>"The love of my life was of the people I have been taught to hate," Nicky gestured across the table to Joe.</p><p>“We uh,” Joe's face broke into a genuine grin, “we killed each other.”</p><p>“Many times.” Nicky finished, with something like an apology and a tinge of embarrassed nostalgia. Oh God what even <em>was </em>this enemies-to-lovers fanfiction bullshit? Okay, fine. Fine. Not the time. Setting <em>that</em> aside for a moment…</p><p>She turned to Andy, suddenly afraid in a way she hadn't been before. “You’re the oldest.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Andy agreed unhelpfully.</p><p>“So how old are you?”</p><p>“Old.” Andy remained reticent in a way that told Nile she wouldn’t like the answer. But she couldn’t help herself, curiosity (and the need for intelligence) was killing her.</p><p>“Yeah, but how old?”</p><p>“Too old.” Andy allowed, her voice and face world-weary.</p><p>“Old as balls.” Booker added, in that same, exhausted tone. Nile shut her eyes. Took a deep, calming breath. Joe dissolved into snorts of laughter.</p><p>“This is funny?” Nicky leaned across the table towards Joe, trying to understand. “Why?”</p><p>“He means <em>testicles</em>, Nicky.” Joe explained, wiping his eyes. “It’s a joke." Nicky let out a hum of disapproval, unconvinced of the humor.</p><p>“Wrong, Book," Andy looked up from her food, still chewing. “Balls are older than I am.”</p><p>Booker cracked a lopsided smile. Joe was <em>crying</em>. Even Andy had cracked a smug grin. Nicky shook his head at them all fondly.</p><p>“How am I the youngest here by centuries but I’m surrounded by children,” Nile seethed.</p><p>“They are a lot to take in.” Nicky agreed. “I think you should rest.”</p><p> “I think you should finish the game,” Booker insisted. “Take your mind off it.”</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep right now if I wanted to,” Nile admitted. This was…it was all too much. She was exhausted, but not tired, even with a belly full of hot food. She needed to ask. To learn. To know more. She needed to stay sharp, stay focused, not let the panic sink in, not think of her family, her career, her dreams of a college education—</p><p>“You just want your 500 pounds back.” Andy told him. Nicky made a mournful sound. Joe laughed aloud.</p><p>“—And to introduce Nile to the joys of football,” Booker countered.</p><p>“We fought in the Crusades,” Joe stage whispered across the table.  “How is it that <em>Booker</em> is the one trying to convert people?”</p><p>“Santa Maria, I married this man,” Nicky complained, but there was an adoring light in his eyes. He stood and stretched, revealing the soft curve of his belly and a dark trail of hair against his skin. Nile looked away, embarrassed. Joe stared pointedly. Nicky caught his eye, and shook his head. “You are incorrigible. Come, help me with the dishes.”</p><p>“Only if you make asida!” Joe called after him, definitely watching his ass.</p><p>“My salad,” Nile whined. Booker snorted.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The author doesn't speak Arabic or any Imazighen languages, and isn't Muslim. I've tried to do my research, but I'm bound to make mistakes both due to personal ignorance and systemic oppression. If you notice racist language or tropes regarding characters of color like Nile or Joe (and even inaccuracies regarding their cultures or religions) and are in a place to offer criticism, please let me know so I can correct them.</p><p>    Titles are from The Wiz musical (1974) and movie (1978).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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